February 15 - 21, 2015: Issue 202
Ah! the summer is with us, and Sydney prepares
To take up her sports and to throw off her cares!
Old termagant Winter was caught unawares,
And has slunk to the Pole, where he mopes and despairs.
And the streets and the beaches, the parks and the squares
Are crowded with folk who, with holiday airs,
Gallivant (notwithstanding prohibitive fares)
To the glades and the rivers they know to be theirs,
Bare-legged and bare-armed, but nobody stares.
Ol Phoebus's rays they want more than their shares.
So, a string of bright days, if you please, Mr. Mares
SUMMER. (1929, November 30). The Sydney Morning Herald(NSW : 1842 - 1954), p. 13. Retrieved from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article28044226
Mrs. J. Flood has a nice little fishing box at Pittwater, where she and her friends live the 'simple life,' that is, do not trouble to dress for dinner, and improve their health by sun and sea water baths. Mrs. Mackenzie, a sister and wife to Col. Mackenzie, is over from Melbourne, and has been staying with Mrs. Joe Flood in her flat in Darlinghurst. She looks very well, and has the secret of perpetual youth. WOMAN'S COLUMN. (1905, October 28). The Newsletter: an Australian Paper for Australian People (Sydney, NSW : 1900 - 1918), p. 17. Retrieved from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article114728490
SUMMER SCENE On Pittwater.
The sombre hills brood over the water, un-changed since the beginning of things. Tall trees stand to watch their reflection tremble In the deep water, all the ground beneath them scattered with particles of lavender and grey bark. Their newly discovered trunks are white as milk, or fawn, or rich rust-red, and smooth as flesh-smooth and cool.
In the little, undiscovered bays the shadowed water Ups gently against rocks, against a rim of pale sand. Beyond are gullies, rocky, cool, and damp, where water has made a course for itself down the hill-side. The trees in these gullies are low and gnarled, twined fantastically with long rope thick vines that strive to join them to each other, and great tree-ferns and palms strain upward to the light.
On the rocky escarpments that crown the hills grow Christmas bells, flannel flowers, Christmas bush. The bells flaunt their bright colours on a ledge covered with thick green moss, just below the sheer rock face. Some-where a hidden waterfall chuckles, andmoisture drips continually down the rocksand over the moss and flowers. Like an accompaniment to the still heat that never ceasing buzz of the cicadas haunts the valleys and the hillsides.
The water is all a dazzle of bright sun and white sails and rowing-boats with the drops falling diamond bright from oar blades. Laughter, voices calling, flash of colours, tanned shoulders moving rhythmically, a little boat scudding before a puff of wind like a drunken butterfly.
Smoke is going up from picnicker's fires; the little waterside cottages are gay with coloured towels and bathing things.
Evening comes almost reluctantly, touching water and hills to a study in pastels. The water Is so still that it is possible to feather oars with a whisper of flat blades along the surface. On the narrow grey wooden wharves parties are fishing. The chorus of the cicadas is muted, but scents hang in the still air scents of gum and seaweed.
Night;-dark, cool, quietly moving. In its movement the quality of a symphony; branches stirring, clouds moving quietly in a wan sky, soft movement of the water against the shore, the air blowing cool on hot faces-bringing regret for the day gone, promise for the morrow. _
-ALISON MCDOUGALL. SUMMER SCENE. (1938, January 8). The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 - 1954), p. 13. Retrieved from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article17443345
POEM OF THE WEEK
The whiteness of swimmers in
Matches the foam:
Adept in this element, the two
Float in a world alone.
Beyond them clouds, and boats,
All collect the colour of dusk:
It grows high awhile the tide
Goes with a rush.
And now the looming dark
With form, and smooths
Wet boats, red clouds, wide
Into greys and blues.
And last, and late, swimmers
A line of white,
Are swept together in brief
On the flood of night.
POEM OF THE WEEK. (1951, November 13). Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. : 1909 - 1954), p. 4 Edition: Daily. Retrieved fromhttp://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article118228283
The following is the poem that took first prize at the Coleraine Exhibition, and we understand, Miss Priscella Poland is the authoress:
THE SUMMER EVENING.
Oh the stillness of a summer evening calm !
When the silence falls upon us like a gentle healing balm,
Wrapping all the face of Nature in its soft and mighty arm;
When the light is softly fadiug, and the darker shades creep on,.
Enveloping in dimness were the golden sun had shone,
Creeping softly comes the shadow as she lets her curtain down,
In the stillness of a summer evening calm.
Glorious beauty of a summer evening calm !
Soon we feel the secret rapture in our spirits rising warm,
As Creations mighty bosom thus assumes its silent form;
To quiet sleep the winds are hushed and ceased their plaviul swing.
In the tall and heavy tree-tops where no voice is heard to sing,
For the choristers are nestling now with herds beneath the wing.
In the silence of a summer evening calm.
Sweet the breathings in a summer evening calm!
How our thoughts are set in motion like the busy wheel of Time,
In vain to solve the mystries of the Infinite Sublime!
'Twere more than failure to attempt those wonders to unfold,
For imaginative fancy the immensity to bebold,
So long we gaze and ponder on the love lines untold,
In the glory of a summer evening calm.
Glad the respite in a summer evening calm!
What a rash of bye-gone memories flows upon us in the gloam,
Now transporting, then reproving as they swiftly go and come;
Reprovin, ah! the bitt'r drops would dare to taint the sweet,
Where the rolling waves of memory both foe and friendship meet,
But strife, begone! let pardon free hold forth her sway complete,
In the gladness of a summer evening calm.
Closely watching in a summer evening calm,
Not a sound or stirring motion to betoken an alarm
To the heart with deepest feelings all absorbed in mystic charm;
More we feel the silent monotone embracing everything,
Scarce broken by the fearless bat gone forth upon the wing,
While upon and round about us deeper still the shadows cling,
In the waning of a summer evening calm.
Strangely tranquil is the summer evening calm!
E'en upon the mighty ocean bold the seaman fears no harm,
Safe, tho' far from terra firma, inward monitors aim ;
The darkning clouds his canopy float over him in the sky,
Across his track to welcome rest the weary sea birds cry,
When hushed the giant billows sink to gentlest lullaby.
In the grandeur of a summer evening calm.
Deep the mystery in a summer evening calm!
The unfathomable secret is divinely hid we deem,
Too deep we may not probe it lest repulsion meet us firm;
But longing heart let all thy thoughts be holy and sincere,
List to the message evening brings thy weary heart to cheer!
For 'tis heaven’s finger upward raised,
and earth has ceased to hear,
In the stillness of a summer evening calm.
Prize Poem. (1894, April 25). Portland Guardian (Vic. : 1876 - 1953), p. 4 Edition: EVENING. Retrieved from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article65406392